


Wolf in Cop’s Clothing

by lemnerd



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) Fusion, Angst, Detective Derek Hale, Detective Stiles Stilinski, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, they're all detectives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemnerd/pseuds/lemnerd
Summary: “Anyways, we’re here!” Stiles says, nervously gesturing to the gas station. “Let’s just get the footage and go - Let’s Just Get The Footage and Go: title of our sex tape.”And then Stiles realizes what he just says and backpedals and his heart starts thumping. Derek sputters, turning bright red, “what?”Fuck! “I- I said ‘your’! I said ‘your’ sex tape, Derek! God, let’s just go!”or-the b99 AU that involves a rogue alpha werewolf, a sterek rivalry and UST
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	Wolf in Cop’s Clothing

Stiles is pretending to be sorting through case files when Erica walks up to his desk. 

"Hey, what're you up to? Don't care. Listen, the Captain wants you in his office effective immediately, and he sounded quite cranky. So if I were you I'd, y'know, get on that." She says all of this in one breath, whilst concentrating on her phone - probably staring at her twitter feed. Stiles groans.

When the Captain of the 99th precinct of the NYPD calls you into his office, that means one of two things. One: you've royally fucked up, or two: he wants to assign you, specifically, to a case. Stiles would be thrilled to be assigned to a case - he loves solving mysteries - if he didn't also know who else was already currently in his boss' office. 

"Earth to Stiles," Erica drawls, "are you gonna just sit there? Stiles." She pokes him in the face. "Why doesn't your mouth work?"

" _ Why Doesn't Your Mouth Work?: _ title of your sex tape." Stiles says, because the opportunity just presented itself and he couldn't resist.

"Go see what the Captain wants, you idiot."

Stiles huffs and rises from his chair, making his way over to the captain's office. He braces himself and knocks on the already open door. Two pairs of eyes land on him. He sees the captain sitting at his desk, and one of the chairs across it is occupied and Stiles thinks,  _ fuck my life. _

Because there aren't many people that Det. M. Stiles Stilinski despises in his life more than Det. Derek Hale. Mean, big, snarky Derek Hale, who - by the looks on the captain's face - is going to be Stiles' partner in whatever case that needs solving. It's not that Stiles thinks that Hale is a bitch-ass loser for no reason. No, they have a history. A history that involves a lot of bitching, arguing, and UST on Stiles' part. Every time they've been assigned to work a case together, they've managed to drive each other batshit insane. Stiles has tried everything to avoid Hale. He's begged  _ on his knees  _ (he was at a low point in his life at that point, okay? Their bitching had managed to give a major druglord time to get away - it was totally Derek's fault.) to never be associated with that son of a bitch. But the captain seems to love torturing the both of them. The first day that Stiles started working at this precinct, Hale had the grand idea of backing him against a wall. Not only did that result in an annoyingly persistent rivalry, but it also managed to introduce Stiles to the world of fear-boners. 

Long story short, fuck Derek Hale.

"Stilinski," Captain John Stilinski acknowledges, then nods at him to close the door.

"Captain," Stiles says back. "So... what's up? Who died, am I right?!"

Hale glares at him. The captain also looks unimpressed.

"To answer your question, detective, three people. Three people died in what was suspected to be a mountain lion attack. They died last night, murdered right next to NYU." Captain Stilinski says, coldly. 

Stiles feels the back of his neck flush. "Oh... my bad."

The corners of Hale's lips quirk up and Stiles wants to punch him in his too-pretty face. The only reason he doesn't is that it'd probably hurt Stiles more than it'd hurt Hale. Stiles has tried hitting him before - it didn't end well. Hale's body is rock-solid. Believe him - Stiles  _ knows _ . He's had Hale's body pressed right up against him on multiple occasions - usually when they hid during stakeouts. Stiles will admit that he doesn’t particularly  _ hate  _ being pressed up against all of Hale’s...  _ everything,  _ but that doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.

"So wait - it sucks that these people died but why is this a case? We need to bust this mountain lion for drug trafficking or something?" 

No one laughs. 

"Seriously, you guys need to appreciate my jokes mor-"

"Stiles." The Captain snaps, and Stiles snaps his mouth shut because the captain rarely ever uses his first name when they're at work.

The Captain sighs, signals for Stiles to sit and then rubs his face with his hands. He looks  _ old _ . Stiles doesn't really like thinking about the fact that his father works in the same police precinct as him - let alone the fact that he's his  _ captain  _ . The fact that they could die during the same mission - or even worse, be the  _ reason  _ that the other person died on the force messes with his head sometimes.

"The NYPD believes it's a bigger issue than just a mountain lion attack, which is why this case was given to  _ us  _ because of our... supernatural assets." 

Stiles laughs. "Supernatural assets? What supernatural assets? Dad, is this a joke?"

This must be a practical joke. Are they playing a prank on him? Oh my god, is Stiles being pranked?

His father shakes his head. He then gestures to Stiles' archnemesis. "Hale?" He says, resolved.

Hale sighs. And  _ then  _ , he...  _ changes.  _ He  _ morphs. _ His teeth become majorly prominent, his bone structure seems to completely rearrange, his eyes start  _ glowing blue  _ and  _ holy fucking shit - where did his eyebrows go?! _

Stiles lets out a shriek and bolts out of his chair, tripping as he backs away from whatever  _ thing  _ Hale just turned into. His heart is going crazy. He thinks he's going to pass out and - oh God, are those  _ claws  _ ?!

Hale growls, his face morphing back to normal. Hey, his eyebrows are back! Stiles kinda missed them. Wait, what? Whatever - Stiles will deal with that thought when he's not hyperventilating from stress and fear. "I told you this was a bad idea, Captain. We should've eased him into it. I can't just whip it out and expect everything to be okay."

" _ I Can't Just Whip It Out and Expect Everything to Be Okay:  _ title of your sex ta- nevermind. Now's not the time for that. What the fuck just happened?! Stiles screeches, "Dad, what the fuck?!  _ Hale,  _ what the  _ fuck?!  _ Did you take some kind of drug or something? Is this a dream?! Can some-"

"I'm a werewolf." Hale declares. 

And for once in his life, Det. M. Stiles Stilinski shuts up. 

&.

So it turns out the whole story behind Hale's wolfiness is pretty anticlimactic. He was born a werewolf and he's always been a werewolf. It's kind of baffling, honestly, how quickly Stiles comprehends all of this. He guesses it's because it explains a lot of Hale's weird stunts that he's pulled and always survived from. Stiles once saw him jump from a 15 story building and land on his feet. It also explains how easily Hale takes to gunshots. When Stiles got shot a year ago, it took him a full 4 months to recover and get back in the field. Hale regularly gets shot and shows up to work the next day, completely fine. 

It also kind of explains some of Hale's weird-ass behavior. He's always grumpy and growling. He sniffs things - a  _ lot  _ \- and can hear a perp coming from miles away. Honestly, Stiles is kind of disappointed that he's never noticed it before. He's  _ been on the force  _ with Derek, multiple times, watching him in action, and has never questioned any of it.

Stiles is a bad detective, clearly.

"What about your tail? Do you get a tail?" Stiles asks, comfortably tucked into the passenger seat of their undercover vehicle. Hale grips the steering wheel murderously, glaring at Stiles every chance he gets. It's a little funny seeing Hale trying to act all tough in his current getup - a hoodie and some shorts that do lovely things for his thighs... not that Stiles has spent any time looking at Hale's thighs. Or ass.

"No." Hale's response is curt, probably meaning that Stiles should just drop the whole werewolf interrogation thing but Stiles is nothing, if not persistent.

Stiles gasps. "Is that why you didn't need to use my binoculars that last time we were tracking down that guy -"

"Stiles."

"- he was like three blocks away from where we were, and I could barely even  _ see  _ him,  _ with  _ binoculars, but  _ you  _ -"

"Stiles."

"-could see him just fine, and you could even describe what he was wearing! Brand, and everything. You said he had  _ Nike  _ shoes on! You could see the Nike logo from however many feet away and-"

Hale undoes his own seatbelt and backs Stiles against the passenger seat. Considering that there aren't many places for Stiles to move to, it's a pretty awkward position. He's vaguely aware of the fact that the car is parked as Hale's warm breath is ghosting inches away from his own lips. Stiles licks his lips, and Hale's eyes follow that movement. His eyes flash blue, and Stiles gulps. 

"We're here," Hale gestures to the building they've parked outside of, but Stiles can't take his eyes off of Hale's blue eyes, “so get the fuck out of the car.”

He nods hurriedly, swallowing. Hale pulls away and Stiles can finally breathe again. Hale kills the engine, and opens the door to leave, but before he exits the vehicle, he says:

“Oh, and one more thing. If you bring up this werewolf thing again, I’ll rip your throat out. With my teeth.”

Derek has made this exact threat many times over the years. Stiles always thought it was part of his whole,  _ grr I’m an angsty cop  _ persona, but he sweats profusely now, glued to his seat because he realizes, for the first time, that Hale could  _ actually  _ rip his throat out. 

With his teeth. 

&.

The frat party they’re undercover at is  _ loud.  _ Loud, and stuffy. Hale hates it, but Stiles kinda loves it. It reminds him of his own college days. He drinks in the loud music, the beer pong, the terrible and uncoordinated dancing. Stiles feels at home.

“Stick close to me,” Hale whispers into his ear, and Stiles shivers.

“You got it, big guy.”

It’s pretty easy to stick with Hale, considering that he is definitely the oldest and buffest dude there. It also helps that Hale keeps his hand gripped with surprising tenderness - like he’s scared of breaking Stiles.

Stiles will think about that later, when he’s in the shower.

Anway: “What’s our perp look like?” Stiles asks, into the collar of Hale’s shirt.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hale says, scanning the room, “I’ll be able to smell them.”

“Ah,” Stiles declares, “so it’s a ‘see with your nose’ type of deal. I got’cha, no big.”

Hale drops his hand, storming away, decidedly done with being nice to Stiles. Which is honestly understandable, he did tell him to stop with all the wolf talk. 

A college girl walks right up to him, a sultry smile on her face. “Hey.”

And Stiles understands that the adult thing in this situation would be to back away, apologize and go find Hale. This girl is  _ way  _ too young for him, but he also recognizes that saying  _ ‘hey, sorry, I’m a twenty-seven-year-old cop’  _ would blow their cover. 

So he musters his dopiest frat-boy smile and grins. “Hey, what’s up? My name's Chad from Alpha Kappa, uh… Venus.”

&.

Stiles has a considerable amount of college girls surrounding him, and they’re all trying to get his attention. Honestly, it’s kind of nice to be validated - even if the people who are doing the validating are girls who are way too young for him who he’s not even attracted to. They laugh at every joke he makes, which is a first. 

“So, Chad…” One of the girls - he thinks her name is Bethany or something - practically purrs, “Wanna dance?”

“Uh,” Stiles says, in his dude-bro-est voice, “I don’t really dance, sorry-”

She slides closer to him, her breath reeking of alcohol. Stiles can tell that she’s trying to jut out her boobs and he sweats a little when she grins. “Come on, Chad. Please?”

“Uh… uh-”

And  _ then  _ \- and then he gets roughly jerked backwards, pulled away faster than he can reach for his gun in the waistband of his godawful cargo shorts. He gets pulled to the back yard of the frat house, the place with the pool, and he can finally breathe, thank god. He turns to see who just  _ kidnapped  _ him and Hale’s scowl stares him right back in the face. 

“What are you doing?!” Stiles hisses.

“What am  _ I  _ doing? What are  _ you  _ doing? I’ve been looking for our werewolf for the past twenty minutes whilst  _ you’ve  _ been getting comfy with college girls. God, you reek of them.” Hale grits out, punctuating each word with a tightening grip on Stiles’ arm.

“I was trying to act natural!”

Hale shoots him an incredulous look. “You  _ really  _ piss me off, you know that?”

“Well guess what, Sourwolf? Because my dad is a sadistic bastard, we’re stuck with each other! Whoop-dee-fucking-doo!”

Hale roughly lets go of him, shoving him away with a growl. “Just stay away from those girls, alright? I don’t like the way they were- Stiles. That’s our perp. I can smell him.”

Stiles jerks his head to where Hale is looking. It’s- it’s a  _ kid  _ \- he’s no older than nineteen, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he talks to a girl with long brown hair. Stiles quirks his brows at his partner. “  _ That’s  _ our psycho killer werewolf? That kid? That kid is the one who killed - no,  _ maimed  _ \- three different people?”

Hale rolls his eyes. “Yes. Let’s go talk to him.”

Stiles shrugs. “Fine. Okay.” He begins walking, but then he stops abruptly. “Wait, wait, wait. You changed the subject. Can we circle back here? You don’t like the way those college girls were what?”

Hale ignores him, making his way slowly around horny college students.

“Derek! I need answers!”

&.

“So Liam,” Stiles says, an easygoing grin on his face, “what frat are you from?”

Liam (Psycho Killer Werewolf) looks at the two of them weirdly, then pulls out his phone.

“Hey, dude, totally not cool, man. We were having a conversation, bro. Chet and I came all this way just to talk to you.” Stiles persists, his smile cracking a bit. Derek (“Chet”) has his arms crossed, his chest bulging and a deep scowl on his face. It’s totally contrasting with his neon green Hollister hoodie.

Liam looks up from his phone lazily. “Your name is Chad?”

Stiles nods. “Guilty as charged.”

Liam jerks his vision up to Hale. “And your name is Chet.”

“Yes.” Derek grits out. 

“And you both came all this way to see me because you apparently heard from  _ Bryson  _ \- I’ve never met anyone named that in my whole entire  _ life  _ , by the way - that I deal Adderall - which I don’t - and you want to buy some.” Liam looks incredibly annoyed - which is just downright rude, since  _ he’s  _ the one who murdered the three people.

Stiles clears his throat. “Yeah, bro. Trust one-hundred. I get mad unfocussed during my lectures. Adderall is totally litty. It brings me so much clarity, man. You know how drugs are.”

Derek looks at him incredulously, like he wants to kill him.

Liam sighs, pinching the space between his eyes. “Okay, look, I don’t know who you guys are, but I’d appreciate if you just leave me and I won’t report you to campus security for apparently stalking me.”

Stiles pales. “O-oh. Okay, dude. For sure. Chad and I will just-”

“I thought  _ you  _ were Chad,” Liam says, amused.

“I  _ am  _ Chad, bro. I just, uh. Refer to myself in the third person. It’s mad poetic. Anyway, we’ll just-”

“We know what you are.” Derek says flatly.

Liam falters. “W-what?”

“We know that you’re  _ awesome _ !” Stiles says enthusiastically, elbowing Derek in the ribs.

Derek grunts, and flashes his eyes at Liam. Liam looks like he’s just seen a ghost. 

“Oh my God,” he says, and “please help me,” and “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

&.

Stiles crosses his arms in front of his dad, “So what we do know is that whoever bit Liam is the same bastard who killed those three people.”

The captain narrows his eyes. “So you’re saying that the kid himself has no relation to the murders?”

“Of course not, how could he? He’s a  _ kid  _ who got bitten by some psycho and he looked so spooked to see that Derek was, you know -” he makes fangs with his fingers and growls.

“I’m right here.” Hale grunts. 

“I know, I just don’t want anyone else to find out-”

“Find out what?” Det. Scott McCall asks, walking into the break room, shaking up a box of strawberry milk.

“Nothing!” Stiles says loudly, finishing off his granola bar. 

Scott looks at him warily. “Okay… hey, how did Operation Werewolf go yesterday?”

“Oh, it went - wait. Wait, what?! Scott, you  _ knew _ ?! You  _ know  _ about werewolves?! What the fuck, Scott!”

Scott is his best bro! Scott is the reason Stiles joined the force in the first place! How could he keep a secret like this from him for so long, leaving him to find this out by himself?! He would take a  _ bullet  _ for Scott - scratch that, he  _ has  _ taken a bullet for Scott - and Scott would just leave him in the dark like this?! What an ass!

“We… we all knew, Stiles.” Scott says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

What?!

“What?!” Stiles screeches. He huffs, centers himself, and then yells: “Everyone, briefing room! Now!”

“You don’t have the power to call a meetin-”

“Now!” Stiles yells.

Not a lot of people actually care to listen to his urgent yelling, because they all have, like, police work to do or something. But his squad files into the briefing room, annoyed. They don’t have the right to be disgruntled! They were all keeping a secret from Stiles!

“Detectives,” Stiles greets, “Erica, Sarge,” he says to Boyd, “Captain,” he greets his father, “what the fuck, guys?!”

“Did he figure it out?” Erica asks Det. Allison Argent. Allison smirks, then beckons her hand out. A few people slap some money into her hand. 

“Was there a  _ betting pool _ ?!” Stiles yells.

"Stiles, we can explain." Scott says, and he's the only one who doesn't look smug or annoyed. Him and Hale. Hale kind of looks constipated. 

"How did you guys all know about werewolves and none of you bothered to tell me?!" 

"Because you were bleeding out, dumbass." Allison says, arms crossed and NYPD shirt fitting her snugly. Stiles is absolutely not staring! He's too mad to objectify his coworkers. 

And Stiles says "Bleeding out?" and "What do you mean bleeding out," and "Oh my God, that time where I got shot trying to defend Scott."

Stiles Stilinski might be a failure of a detective sometimes, but he is nothing, if not loyal. That night a year ago, during the hostage situation, Scott had been held at gunpoint by a terrorist. Stiles pushed him out of the way and got shot instead. He didn't remember the rest, after that. He just woke up in the hospital with people calling him a hero. 

"Wait, wait, wait," Stiles grips onto the podium, "fill in the gaps for me. What happened the night I got shot?" 

Boyd sighs, then straightens up from where he's sulking in the corner. "You were being stupid and reckless. Derek was held at gunpoint, you pushed him out of the way, you got shot, he beat the guy up. The rest of the squad saw him wolfed out. You were unconscious. It was pretty bad, you're lucky you don't remember most of it."

Stiles' mouth gapes open. This whole time, he thought he saved  _ Scott  _ from being shot. Scott, his best bro. But clearly, he must have remembered it wrong seeing as  _ Derek Hale  _ is claiming that he saved him. 

" _ It Was Pretty Bad, You're Lucky you Don't Remember Most of It _ : title of your sex tape, I'm gonna just be right back, bye." 

And then he motherfucking leaves. 

&. 

"You can't avoid Hale forever, son. He's literally your partner on this case."

Stiles groans, "Dad, for once, can we not just have a nice family dinner without any work bullshit? I am not obsessed with Derek Hale-"

"I didn't say anything remotely close to that." 

"- and his stupid weirdo werewolf abilities that you all apparently  _ knew  _ about and didn't even have the decency to tell me -" 

"Stiles," John says, "you are literally one of the best detectives on the force. Forgive us for thinking you'd solve this one on your own- oh, don't give me that look, son. Seriously? And now you're sticking your tongue out at me. Real mature."

Stiles huffs, then turns back to his meat burger - as opposed to his father's veggie burger. 

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure Boyd is a werewolf, too."

Stiles groans and bangs his head on the table. "Of course Sarge is a werewolf. Have you seen his muscles? He's ripped."

Wait…

Wait.

Waaaiiittt.

"Dad, why did you put me and Derek on the same task force if you have two perfectly good supernatural people in our squad already? Scratch that, why do you  _ repeatedly  _ put me and Derek together on any case? You  _ know  _ I hate him."

John looks bemused. "You two make a good team. Sure, you bicker like a pair of morons, but you get the job done. He calms you down under pressure and you're observant and pragmatic where he can be callous. Plus, I don't mind playing matchmaker."

Stiles scoffs at the last sentence, but doesn't know how to feel about the rest of that. 

&. 

Two more bodies were found at a gas station, mangled and maimed like the other three. 

"Okay," Stiles says, "there seems to be no relation between any of the victims. You know what that means: we've reached a - say it with me - dead end!" 

Everyone in the briefing room rolls their eyes at his jazz hands. 

"I mean, there must be  _ some  _ relation," Scott says. 

"Orrr…" Stiles says in a cheery voice, lowering his jazz hands, "it could just be a rogue killer werewolf!" 

"Thank you, detective," Captain Stilinski interrupts, dryly, "I'll have Hale do the briefing next time."

Which is how they end up driving to the gas station, after almost a week of Stiles avoiding Hale. It's a quiet drive, and Stiles drums his fingers against the steering wheel of the police car they're in. Hale has some douchey aviators on and seems very interested in the New York scenery - namely  _ traffic  _ and  _ pigeons.  _ Stiles sighs, focussing on the road ahead of him and trying to  _ ignore, ignore, ignore  _ \--

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles blurts, then curses himself for being so impulsive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hale’s expression change, but his eyes are still hidden by his sunglasses. 

“Stiles,” he says, and Stiles realizes for the first time that Hale has never referred to him as  _ Stilinski  _ or  _ Detective  _ . Always Stiles.

“I mean, I don’t get it, Derek. Even  _ Greenberg  _ knew that you’re a werewolf before I did. Is it because we’re sworn enemies? But even  _ that  _ doesn’t make any sense. Why would you hide something that  _ obviously  _ gives you an advantage? Oh my god, this is just like Major Grant in _ Die Hard 2. _ ”

They’re nearing the gas station and Stiles tries to drive as slow as possible so that he can at least get an answer out of Derek before the conversation ends. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, exasperated, “I didn’t tell you because I… I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Stiles is so taken aback that he swerves and almost crashes the car.

“Jesus!” Derek growls, gripping the car door like his life depends on it. 

“Sorry! God,” Stiles rushes out, “I’m so sorry. I just. What? Why would I hate you? I mean, I do hate you because you’re an asshole douchebag but why would I hate you for being a werewolf?”

Derek huffs, “Stiles, you took a bullet for me for no reason. I would’ve healed if I got shot. You almost died and I could’ve saved you.”

Stiles gawks, then pulls into the gas station. He locks the doors so Derek can’t get out and Derek growls. 

“Oh no, Sourwolf, you are not leaving until you listen to me. I don’t care that you can heal from fatal wounds or jump off of cliffs or apparently  _ take people’s pain  _ \- you  _ need  _ to show me that last one, by the way. I don’t care that your eyes glow all weird and you have  _ fangs  _ or whatever - I’m not finished, shut up,” Stiles raises his finger when Derek opens his mouth to speak. 

“To be completely honest with you, I don’t know why I jumped in front of the gun, it was all very heroic and valiant like John McClain in  _ Die Hard Three  _ \- the worst  _ Die Hard  _ movie, by the way. But the point is, I saved __ your bitch-ass because you were in trouble. And I would do it again. I don’t care if getting shot doesn’t kill you, it causes you pain and I would trade your pain for mine any day of the week. Even if you’re a stupid, arrogant jerk.”

Derek’s staring at Stiles intently - he’s ditched his aviators so Stiles can see every emotion swirling in his eyes. His cheeks are rosy - aw, he’s blushing! And he reaches over the console to grab at Stiles’ hand and Stiles  _ panics  _ because  _ holy shit, this is a thing  _ ! Stiles basically just admitted to  _ caring  _ about Derek Hale. He hastily unlocks the door, and bolts out of the car, slamming the door behind him and trying to calm his racing heart. 

“Anyways, we’re here!” Stiles says, nervously gesturing to the gas station. “Let’s just get the footage and go -  _ Let’s Just Get The Footage and Go:  _ title of our sex tape.”

And then Stiles realizes what he just says and backpedals and his heart starts thumping. Derek sputters, turning bright red, “what?”

Fuck! “I- I said ‘ _ your _ ’! I said ‘your’ sex tape, Derek! God, let’s just go!”

&.

“We have a clear idea of what our perp looks like,” Derek says, showing a screenshot of the gas station footage on the screen, “he’s in his mid-twenties, about six foot, and went in to buy alcohol so the Seven-Eleven employee was able to bring up surveillance footage of his ID. His name is Doug Smith.”

“You’re telling me that a rogue, dangerous Alpha werewolf is walking around with the name  _ Doug Smith _ ?” Allison chimes in, from beside Stiles.

“That’s what I said!” Stiles quips. “That’s not even the worst part! Derek, tell them where he lives.”

Derek sighs, “He lives in a studio apartment, in one of the buildings opposite to the Build-A-Bear workshop.”

Allison, Boyd and Scott crack up laughing, and even  _ Derek  _ seems amused, his scowl twitching and a twinkle in his eye. The captain is the only one who seems disgruntled. “Okay, okay, squad. In any case, this man is dangerous so I’m going to need  _ all  _ of you on this. Argent and Stilinski, you’ll be in charge of door duty and Boyd, Hale, and McCall will be awaiting your signal. We have some specially-made wolfsbane handcuffs and bullets, so take them with you. Go over there tonight.”

Stiles pouts. “Why don’t  _ we  _ get a werewolf on our team?”

Captain Stilinski raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know why you’re complaining. Detective Argent could kick all five of your asses at once.”

Allison grins smugly, crossing her arms and leaning back on her chair. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, gripping him by his arms before they enter the apartment complex. 

Stiles looks up into Derek’s eyes. He looks worried and rugged, his hair mussed and his eyes wide. “What’s up, big guy?”

“Be careful,” he punctuates this with a hand on his shoulder, and Stiles would crack a joke if it weren’t for the desperation in Derek’s voice when he says, “ _ please _ .”

Derek Hale is an asshole, mean, big and snarky. He’s a bitch-ass loser, Stiles can’t  _ stand  _ \- aw, hell, who is he kidding? He might get mauled by an alpha werewolf tonight, and he’ll hate himself forever if he dies pretending to hate Derek Hale. He grabs Derek by his NYPD windbreaker, pulls him down, and kisses him tenderly. 

In the split-second before their lips meet, Stiles thinks,  _ oh my God  _ , and  _ he’s going to beat the shit out of me  _ , and  _ this has always been one-sided, Derek hates me  _ .

Derek, surprisingly, just wraps his arms round Stiles’ waist, lets out a soft noise, and kisses him back.

Stiles knocks on a door of the apartment, “Police!”

A man in his late forties opens the door, and Allison says, “Hello,”

“Hello,” the man says in an accent Stiles can’t quite decipher.

“What’s your name?” Allison asks.

“My name? Mlepnos.”

Stiles meets Allison’s gaze. Allison fights back a smile when she asks, “Can you spell that please?”

“M-L-E-P, clay-”

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘clay’?” Allison says, confused.

“Yes, the ‘clay’ is silent.”

“Okay, have you seen this man before?” Stiles asks, holding up a picture of Doug Smith. “We’re looking for him, and we’re not sure which apartment he lives in.”

Mlep(clay)nos holds the photo in Stiles’ hand, says “thank you,” takes the photo and then closes the door on the both of them.

“No, sir, that’s ours- we need that-” Allison sputters as the door closes.

“That guy was weird,” Stiles says, but he’s distracted because out of the corner of his eye he can see someone moving. He turns his head to see a flurry of movement and his heart starts racing as he hurries to catch up to the perpetrator, yelling “NYPD! Freeze!”

He chases the perp down the hallway of the apartment complex, Allison at his trail. They reach the stairwell, and Stiles can clearly see that this is the infamous Doug Smith. He has a crazy look in his eyes, and a growl at the undercurrent of his sharp breaths. It intimidates Stiles - he’s a  _ monster  _ \- but he remembers he has wolfsbane bullets in his gun. He raises his gun at Smith, cocking it. “You’ve got nowhere to run, Smith.”

Smith grins, puts one foot over the banister and  _ jumps  _ down a few flights of stairs.

“Shit!” Allison yells, kicking the wall. Stiles turns his walkie-talkie on and into it, he yells, “This is Argent and Stilinski. The perp just jumped down ten or so floors. Be ready for him at the bottom. Let’s go,” he says to Allison, and then starts running down the stairs.

&.

By the time they’ve reached the bottom of the stairs, the empty landing of the apartment complex, the sight in front of them is pretty comical. Smith is throwing Boyd, Derek and Scott around. It’s barely even a fight, and Stiles almost hurls when he sees Scott getting swatted away like a fly, the sound of bones cracking as his back hits the wall. He raises his gun up to Smith, then shouts, “Freeze!”

Smith turns around, grinning. He has Derek gripped in a headlock, with his other hand’s claws digging into Derek’s abdomen. Stiles gulps, and tries not to pass out from the stress of seeing Derek basically  _ dying  _ in front of him. 

“You love him,” Smith spits, voice lisping around his massive fangs, “I can  _ smell  _ it.”

Stiles musters up all the bravado he can, and spits, “Wow, impressive. Can you also smell that I’m about to shoot you in the heart with a wolfsbane bullet?”

Smith chuckles, “It seems you’re unaware of the shield I currently have,” he gestures to Derek and, oh my God, Stiles is going to be sick.

Allison rushes over to help Scott and Boyd, who are lying limply on the ground. Smith doesn’t seem to care, though. He probably thinks they’re as good as dead.  _ Think, Stiles.  _ His brain is running a million miles a minute and he’s trying to be  _ rational  _ here, Goddamn it, but he  _ can’t.  _ He can’t hurt Smith without hurting Derek. He tries to steady his heartbeat, because apparently  _ werewolves can hear that shit  _ , and he doesn’t want Smith to see that he’s won. 

And then suddenly - he has a plan. 

“Hey, dickwaffle!” Stiles yells, then quickly reaches for his other gun - the one that has regular bullets in it. He takes a deep breath, then shoots Derek in the leg with the gun. Derek doubles down and falls over, and Smith seems taken aback, surprised that Stiles had the balls to shoot the man he apparently loves.

Smith charges at Stiles, but before he does any damage, Allison fires a wolfsbane bullet straight into Smith’s leg. He lets out a guttural growl, then falls to his knees. 

Stiles grabs the wolfsbane handcuffs and cuffs Smith’s limp, claw-less hands together. He immediately hurries over to Derek, who’s bloody and panting harshly. He checks Derek’s pulse and releases a sigh of relief when he finds a steady pulse.

“Stiles! Scott’s hurt!” Allison cries, her voice wrecked. 

Stiles hurries over to Scott and immediately tries not to hurt - Scott is a mess, he’s bleeding out, and Stiles is pretty sure he can see some of Scott’s  _ bones  _ . He would probably need thousands of stitches and oh my God, he’s not breathing. 

“I- I don’t know what to do!” Stiles croaks, tears springing to his eyes.

“I do,” a husky voice says, and he turns to see Derek, bloody and reaching out to Smith’s limp body, and that’s the last thing that Stiles sees before he passes out.

&.

“So let me get this straight. You  _ killed  _ Smith -”

“He was already dying anyway, Stiles. The wolfsbane poison reached his heart. I just sped up the process.”

“- you  _ killed  _ him and then leveled up your wolfy abilities so now  _ you’re  _ the Alpha and then you  _ bit  _ Scott-”

“He was dying-”

“You bit Scott  _ and  _ Boyd because he wasn’t healing and now you have yourself a little…” he waves his hands around, “Werewolf cult.”

“It’s called a pack, Stiles,” Derek huffs, crossing his arms sulkily. They’re both too spooked by the events of what just happened to acknowledge that they’re in Derek’s loft apartment, after work hours, days after the incident, sitting a little too closely on the couch.

“What about all the other people Smith bit? Are they now part of your pack?”

“The only other person Smith bit was that college boy. And he seemed pretty scared, I think he needs a good Alpha to help him.”

“A good Alpha,” Stiles echoes, “you think you’d be a good Alpha?”

Derek looks at the ground self-consciously, and Stiles huffs.

“I hate your guts,” Stiles starts, “I hate you. I can’t stand you. I didn’t go to police academy so that I could be partnered up with a douchebag.”

Derek grins, putting his big, warm palm right where Stiles’ heart is stuttering. “I can tell that you’re lying.”

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath, “Okay, so maybe I don’t hate you.”

Derek leans in, “I don’t hate you either. In fact, I like you enough to kiss you right now,”

“So kiss me.” Stiles mutters as he tilts his head. “I swear to God, Hale, this better not bite me in the ass.”

Derek smiles, and Stiles can see  _ dimples  _ from where he’s sitting right now, he can see all the little creases and imperfections on Derek’s perfect face, and he thinks,  _ God, I’m in love. _

“ _ This Better Not Bite Me in the Ass:  _ title of your sex tape.” Derek whispers, and then Stiles laughs into their kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! so my ao3 account (by the same username) was deleted and so i’m just reposting my fav works that i’ve written. not sure about reposting *every* single one of my works, but this is one i’m particularly proud of. :) i wrote it when i was 15 so if you’ve read the original you might notice that i’ve changed up a few details for the sake of, like, plot continuity and just weird inconsistencies that didn’t make sense. enjoy!


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